


A Good Kid

by CheapLemonIceLolly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheapLemonIceLolly/pseuds/CheapLemonIceLolly
Summary: For fuck’s sake, Martin, don’t call him a kid while he’s rubbing your hard-on through your jeans.





	A Good Kid

**Author's Note:**

> The Leafs are out of the playoffs and I’m saaaaad. Then [hockeydetective](https://hockeydetective.tumblr.com) hypothesised that in his exit interview Mitch looked like he’d been crying OR had been fucked in a supply closet just before the interview, and I accidentally wrote it (spoiler alert: it's porn). I can't quite believe I gave it that title. I'm sorry! Matt has a fair bit of age difference angst, Mitch does not. PS: I don't know how exit day works and it is literally just a framework for porn and feelings here so I'm making it up.

Exit day is a weird process, but it’s got to be even weirder for the guys who’ve never had to do it on this scale before. The locker room is chaos, noisy and crowded; it's called “locker clear out” but there's not a lot of clearing out going on while there are four or five interviews happening at once in different parts of the room. Matt is trying to relax while he waits his turn to do the talking head thing, playing some mindless game on his phone to keep his hands busy. But it’s hard to stay calm when Mitch drops into the stall next to him and starts nervously jiggling his leg like a maniac.  
  
Matt can sympathise. It’s not like Mitch has never given an interview before, but it all feels bigger when only days ago you were in OT with the league’s best team and it felt like the Stanley Cup was almost, _almost_ coming into view in the distance. He _can_ sympathise, but it’s still fucking annoying. He reaches out without looking and lays his hand on Mitch’s knee.  
  
“Sorry,” says Mitch, wedging his hands between his thighs. A couple of seconds later, the other leg starts up. Matt sighs.  
  
“Quit worrying,” he says, smiling and giving Mitch's knee a reassuring squeeze. “You know what sort of things they’re gonna ask you and you know what you want to say. We had a good season and they like you, it’s not going to be a big deal. Relax.”  
  
“I know.” Mitch chews his lip. “But I can’t... I’m just all…” he spreads his hands helplessly, too keyed up to finish a sentence. He’s like that most of the time, really, but it’s actually useful when they’re about to play a game; that restless energy is what makes him so fast and relentless and exciting on the ice. It’s not going to help him in an interview to look like a nervous wreck, jumping around and never completing a thought.  
  
Matt moves his hand to the back of Mitch’s neck and gives him another squeeze. “Not long now,” he says.  
  
Mitch shivers, and the tone of their interaction changes subtly. It's not big enough for anyone else to notice, but Matt feels the muscles quiver under his hand. He swallows, but doesn’t move. They are in a crowded locker room full of press, after all; it's hardly the time for a private moment.  
  
“Long enough,” Mitch says, looking around. “About twenty minutes you think?” Matt shrugs. He doesn’t ask _long enough for what_.  
  
Mitch glances sideways at him.  
  
“Can I…” His eyes flick downward and then back up again, so quickly it might have been an accident, but then he licks his bottom lip and drags it fleetingly through his teeth. Matt shifts slightly in his stall. God, he really hopes nobody with a camera saw that.  
  
“Yeah?” he says, pitching his voice low and quiet.  
  
They haven’t…done that in a while. The run up to the end of the season was intense, and then there was playoffs and Mitch had mono; Matt’s old enough to remember when mono got called _the kissing disease_ and he’s not stupid enough to tempt fate even if kissing isn't, like, the focal point of what they do together. So it’s probably been a month or two since the last time. It was never more than an occasional, spontaneous thing even then, just an easy way for Mitch to let off some steam that Matt was happy enough to help out with. Selflessly. Like a good teammate and, you know, mentor figure.  
  
He clears his throat, feeling a little guilty at how quickly his body’s getting on board with the idea of doing it again with the ACC full of reporters.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Eight years is really not that big a gap in age, he reminds himself (rationalizes, really), but hockey makes age differences seem both bigger and smaller than they really are. Plus Mitch is kind of the team baby, the guy even twenty-three-year-old Mo calls “a good kid” without really thinking about it. It's a little awkward, sometimes.  
  
He gives fucking amazing head, though, so Matt’s not going to say _no_ or anything. His eyes drift unconsciously to Mitch’s mouth – it’s such a pretty mouth – and Mitch notices, smirking.  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “I want to. Don’t you?”  
  
Well, yeah. Stupid question. Mitch obviously thinks so too, because he gets up without waiting for an answer and heads out of the locker room, weaving between clumps of reporters and ducking his head. It's the most conspicuous attempt to look casual Matt has ever seen. He's even stuffed his fucking hands in his pockets.  
  
Still, nobody notices him go except Mo, who looks so concerned he obviously thinks Mitch is upset. Well, he did cry a bit after game six. But Matt can hardly blame him for that; he kind of felt like crying too.  
  
Matt gets up quickly, before Mo can engage surrogate captain mode and go find out what’s wrong, and throws him a look that says _I've got this_. Concerned big brother style and not...uh...well. Mo shrugs, satisfied, and goes back to his conversation with Gards, which is a relief no matter how hilarious the idea of Mo finding Mitch on his knees in a supply cupboard might be.  
  
Then Matt thinks about finding Mitch on his knees in a supply cupboard and walks a bit faster.  
  
“What took you so long?” Mitch pouts when Matt finds the right supply cupboard. He's not on his knees, as it happens, but Matt finds that hardly matters. He looks antsy and his impatience – impatience to get Matt's dick in his mouth – is kind of hot. “We're on a tight schedule here.”  
  
The closet is full of brooms and buckets and doesn’t have a lot of room left over for two hockey players. The air is close and smells like dust and industrial grade soap. Mitch immediately advances on Matt and pushes him back into the shelving unit and Matt goes, feeling aluminium shelves press into his shoulders. Obviously he _could_ resist, but it’s kind of fun letting Mitch push him around sometimes; Matt’s not really all that pushy off the ice, whatever his job description might be on it. Plus the kid is stronger than he looks.  
  
For fuck’s sake, Martin, don’t call him a kid while he’s rubbing your hard-on through your jeans.  
  
“You’re really sure?” he says again. His voice is kind of breathier than he meant it to be, and his lisp sounds a bit more pronounced than usual on the last word. Mitch rolls his eyes.  
  
“Yes I’m sure,” he says impatiently, tugging at Matt’s belt. “Come on, we’ve only got a few minutes. Get your dick out already.”  
  
“Don’t be a brat,” Matt laughs, and Mitch sticks his tongue out, grinning. Matt ducks his head and kisses him on the mouth, quick and light, as Mitch unbuckles his belt. He feels a little reckless, not that they haven’t kissed before, but it’s not a given every time and this is kind of quick and dirty, maybe not the moment for affection. This time, though, Mitch makes a considering noise and leans in, kisses him back before he pulls away again. Remembering the time constraints, probably.  
  
“Focus,” he mutters, and Matt isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to. He stops caring when Mitch gets his jeans open and then drops down to his knees. “Nice,” he says appreciatively, even though he’s seen Matt’s dick like, wow, a _lot_ of times now. Then he turns his hat backwards like the fucking teenager he is and dives right in.  
  
Matt doesn’t even know if Mitch is gay or bi or anything, or if he just likes giving head, but the confidence with which he takes Matt in hand and puts his tongue to work like it's his job has always made Matt pretty sure his is not the only dick Mitch is acquainted with.   
  
Matt hasn't ever reciprocated, not because he doesn't want to, but because Mitch never assumed he would and he never quite managed to offer, or ask maybe. It would seem more like a _thing_ , like he was pushing for a relationship or something. He doesn't want Mitch to get spooked or uncomfortable.  
  
Probably he gets his own needs satisfied elsewhere anyway. He might have a girlfriend he’s never mentioned, one who has the same as-long-as-you-come-home-to-me-I'm-happy attitude to this sort of stuff as Sydney does, but also he and Auston are always together, and he’s a local boy so he’s got plenty of friends his own age in the GTA he could be fooling around with or whatever. Matt doesn’t want to pry. The age difference makes being nosey about Mitch’s sex life seem a little weird.  
  
He’s aware that’s kind of a strange way to think about a guy who’s currently blowing him in a supply closet, but hockey friendships are…complicated.  
  
He knocks Mitch's hat off so he can comb a hand through his hair, ruffling it back from his forehead, and concentrates on not rocking his hips too much. Mitch pulls off and looks up at him, mouth red and wet, hand still working on Matt’s cock.  
  
“You can just let loose, you know,” he says, only a little breathless. “Fuck my mouth. I don’t mind.”  
  
“You don’t _mind_?” Matt chokes out, jerking in Mitch’s grip.  
  
“I’ll like it,” he corrects himself. “I want you to, come on.”  
  
Matt groans. This boy is going to be the death of him.  
  
“Alright,” he says, much more breathless than Mitch is. “Alright, alright.” He’s just babbling, but he needs to calm down, not actually _let loose_ whatever Mitch says. He doesn’t want to _choke_ him or…Matt’s brain supplies a vivid picture of Mitch choking on his cock and he thinks he’s probably going to hell or something, but holy shit that’s...  
  
Alright.  
  
He cups the back of Mitch’s head with one hand as he slides back in, as gentle as he can make himself, and says: “Let me know if it’s too much. Like, pinch me or something.”  
  
Mitch answers by making an impatient noise and pressing forward, and all the breath leaves Matt’s body at once.  
  
He rocks his hips, slow and shallow, not sure how much Mitch can handle. Matt doesn’t even know if he’s done this before (the face fucking thing, obviously, not the blowjob; he’s been on the receiving end of plenty of those). But Mitch squeezes his hip and raises one eyebrow at him as if to say _come on, get on with it_ , so, okay.  
  
Matt starts to move a little faster, still careful, but he can't stay careful for long. Mitch just looks so good, with his lips stretched around Matt’s cock and sweat darkening along his hairline, his pale face all flushed and pink. Mat tells him so, stroking his hair back, and Mitch makes a pleased, eager noise and closes his eyes as Matt rocks into him harder.  
  
It feels incredible, just holding him in place and – _J_ _esus_ – and using that pretty mouth. He goes a bit too hard once, lost in the sensations engulfing him, and Mitch has to pull off and cough into his hand, his eyes watering. But he only shakes his head at Matt’s frantic apologies.  
  
“Don't stop,” he says, “I'm fine.”  
  
Each thrust makes more tears gather in the corners of Mitch’s eyes, now, until they spill over onto his cheeks.  
  
“I’m,” Matt gasps. He feels incoherent and laser-focused at the same time, tension building low in his belly while his mind flies apart. “Fuck—Mitchy, I’m gonna…” He grips himself around the base and pulls out, it's only polite, but Mitch frowns up at him.  
  
“Not on my face, geez,” he says. His voice is all gravelly and it nearly sends Matt over the edge just hearing it, knowing he did that, he fucked Mitch hoarse like that. “I’m going to be on camera in like five minutes.”  
  
“Right,” Matt pants, “Sorry. Fuck. D’you want—” but Mitch is already swallowing him down again, and Matt’s words and capacity for thinking in complete sentences are lost in the wet heat of his mouth as his lips brush up against Matt's fingers. Mitch looks up at him, all pretty blue eyes and wet eyelashes clumped together with tears, and Matt loses it. He comes hard with his other hand buried in Mitch’s hair, hips jerking helplessly.  
  
Mitch takes his stuttering thrusts with a small, muffled noise of satisfaction, fingers tightening on Matt’s hip. Then he sits back on his heels and rubs his streaming eyes, wipes a hand over his mouth.  
  
“Thanks,” he says huskily. “I needed that.” Jesus, he sounds like he’s been sucking cock for hours, not minutes. Hopefully that won’t be too obvious in the interview.  
  
“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” Matt asks with a breathless little laugh. He leans against the shelves behind him for a moment, waiting for the blood to return to his brain so he doesn’t say anything stupid. He closes one hand on a metal shelf and feels the cool aluminium bite into his palm. “You ever gonna let me return the favour?”  
  
Mitch looks startled, so the not saying something stupid ship has obviously sailed. Matt doesn't let himself take it back, though.  
  
“That’s not…” Mitch falters. Is he _blushing_? “You don’t have to do that. It's not a favour.”  
  
He sounds almost defensive, apologetic, like he thinks Matt's just being nice to him and he's embarrassed by it. The thought makes Matt's heart clench.  
  
“I know I don’t _have_ to,” he says. “I—” He kind of wants to get down on his knees too, suddenly. It's a little overwhelming, the idea he’d need some kind of obligation to want to touch Mitch back, to want to, God, just lick him all over. Has Mitch _seen_ himself?  
  
He thinks about returning the favour a lot, as it happens. Not in a crappy supply closet but in a bed, where he can take his time, spread Mitch out naked on his white sheets and make him cry again, maybe, but with his own mouth this time.  
  
Matt makes a weird, irritated sound, because he can’t think of a way to say any of that that doesn’t sound strange and obsessive. He genuinely likes this kid, honestly wants him to be happy and carefree and all those things a guy just starting out in this ridiculous profession ought to be while he still can. He's never wanted Mitch to feel obligated to him, or to see Matt as someone who only likes him or looks out for him for the sake of sex. It’s only just occurring to him that by trying not to seem too attached he might have given that impression anyway. He takes a breath.  
  
“I want to,” he says, and then corrects himself. “I’d _like_ to. If you want.”  
  
“Oh,” says Mitch. Then he smiles. It's bright and dazzling, and Matt feels an answering tug in his chest. The next thing he knows, Mitch is on his feet and crowding Matt against the shelves with a hug, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “That sounds…yeah.”  
  
He lifts his head, hesitates a moment like he's not sure what's allowed, and then settles for pressing his lips to the corner of Matt’s mouth. He is possibly the most affectionate, cuddly, _delightful_ guy Matt has ever met. He turns his head into a proper kiss, tasting himself on Mitch’s tongue and not really minding all that much, somehow.  
  
“Uh, not right now, though,” he says, with a gentle shove. “You’ve got press, remember?”  
  
Mitch sighs, scrubbing a hand over his mouth again. “How’s my face?”  
  
He still looks like sex, all flushed cheeks and wet eyes and red, bruised-looking lips, but that might just be because Matt _knows_ what he’s been doing. He could just as easily have been crying over their Cup hopes, probably. Matt restrains himself from saying “perfect” or something equally embarrassing.  
  
“It was a real good season, kid,” he says instead, with the same kind of sincerity. Mitch makes a face.  
  
“Don’t call me kid when I’ve just had your dick in my mouth, Marty. That's weird,” he says, but he turns his face up to be kissed again anyway.  
  


*

  
Back in the locker room the reporters are milling around looking for another victim. Matt takes his hand away from the small of Mitch's back and they pounce, the barrage of questions starting almost before Matt can get out of the way.  
  
He heads over to where Mo and Gards are still sitting and shrugs. “Guess us old guys aren't as interesting as we used to be, eh?”  
  
“Aw, don't worry Marty,” Jake grins. “You were never that interesting.”  
  
Mo's looking over at the clump of people around Mitch, with a look of fond sympathy he'd probably never actually let Mitch see on his face.  
  
“It's rough, that first big loss,” he says sadly, and Matt remembers this is kind of Mo's first big loss, too. First time leaving the playoffs, anyway. He sighs. “I guess we all need to cry about it a bit, but I hope it's not gonna weigh him down too much over the summer.”  
  
Matt frowns, confused, and then remembers Mitch's swollen mouth and eyelashes wet with tears and has to cover his startled bark of laughter with a cough. It's a fairly unconvincing one, but he thinks he gets away with it. Whoops.  
  
Jake claps Mo on the shoulder. “He'll be alright,” he says bracingly. “He's got good family, good people looking after him, good head on his shoulders mostly. Right Marty?”  
  
Matt casts a glance at Mitch, pale and end-of-season skinny under the Jays cap that looks too big for him, “um”-ing and “for sure”-ing his way through the questions like the pro he is. Not a rookie any more, not a kid for much longer. Matt wonders if they'll have time to catch up over the summer.  
  
“Yeah,” he grins. “He's a good kid.”

 


End file.
